


it's really you on my mind

by pragmatic



Category: The 100
Genre: F/M, Sense8 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-15 00:12:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11219175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pragmatic/pseuds/pragmatic
Summary: "Excuse me? I'm sorry, where am I?" He asked.The blonde narrowed her eyes. "In a hospital."He waited for her to continue, and laughed slightly when she didn't. "I gathered that, yeah. Where exactly is this hospital?""Manchester, England."He swore his eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "Manchester? England? Are you kidding?" He asked in disbelief, but now that she had said it, he could hear the slightest accent in her voice; faint, like she hadn't grown up there."Griffin! Code blue. Stop talking to yourself and get over here!"Talking to herself?or the sense8 au that's going to crush my dreams





	1. meeting

**Author's Note:**

> title from chanel by frank ocean

He hadn't woken up in his own bed; which he was kind of used to—but he hadn't woken up in a _bed_ at all, so he was in serious uncharted territory.

The ground was hard underneath him, stones and rubble digging into his ribs. He sat up, and looked around the large room. He seemed to be in a church, high arched ceilings rose above him held up by pillars as thick as trees. There were no benches, and piles of debris were scattered about, as if someone had thought they were going to clean up but then forgot about it.

 _Bellamy_.

He snapped his head up at the sound of the soft voice, it sounded as if it had come from inside his mind—which was completely absurd. This was a very vivid dream he was having.

 _Bellamy_. They said again. This time he could identify that it was a woman speaking to him—from him?—and he looked around the church once more. Finally, his eyes snagged on a dirty mattress in the middle of the room, and the lady sitting on it with a gun in her mouth.

She had dark eyes and hair, and her skin was pale and clammy.

 _Becca_. He didn't know how he knew her name, but there it was, on the very tip of his tongue. Slowly, he stood, as not to scare her.

"Becca, please, don't do this. Whatever is happening, we can figure it out. I'll help you." He said as evenly as he could, he didn't know where he was, or how he got there, but he did know that he wasn't going to let this woman die at her own hand.

Becca's smile was tired, and she moved the gun from her mouth to her head. "Oh, Bellamy, my sweet boy. You always were the hero, weren't you?"

Her words weren't sour, as he almost expected now; being a brown cop in Brooklyn still didn't sit well with some people. "Please, don't do this."

She opened her mouth as if to reply, but then she froze, fear pooling in her eyes. "He's here."

Bellamy approached her still, intending to take the gun away, but pausing at the terror in her voice. "Who's here?" He asked, taking a glance behind him.

Her hands were shaking. "Whispers."

"Who's—"

She recoiled from nothing, and scrambled for the trigger, clicking off the safety.

"Becca—" But his plea was cut short by the loud bang of the gun.

What he would come to realize, is that Becca had given birth to seven others like him. He was connected to them on a level that wasn't easy to comprehend, or understand; he could speak to them telepathically. He could feel what they were feeling, hear what they were hearing, and see what they were seeing.

What he would come to realize, is that he was just born into a new race.

 _Sensates_.

\---

"Bell. Bellamy. Bellamy! Get the hell up! You're going to be late for work!" His sister, Octavia, pounded on his bedroom door. He flung a pillow in that general direction to let her know he was awake, and that she could stop that insistent hammering anytime now.

"I get it!" He shouted, and a few seconds later he heard her retreating footsteps.

He sat up, a massive headache already forming in his left temple. The dream from last night washed over him, and he swayed a little. It had just felt so _real_.

He showered, and put on his police uniform before heading out to the kitchen. Octavia was already sitting at the table in her workout clothes, coffee in hand. She was a personal trainer at the gym down the street, and she was one of those irritating morning people who not only got up much too early, but also made sure everyone else suffered with them too.

He popped a couple of waffles in the toaster oven, and poured himself a cup of caffeine. Octavia had been living on her own at first, but they had both realized it was easier to share and split the rent—especially when the apartment was so close to both of their jobs.

She glanced up from her magazine, attempting to be nonchalant. "I'm going to be going to Lincolns this weekend, I'm meeting his parents."

He hastily bit back his comments about them moving too fast, (he gave up that fight a long time ago). "I hope you have a good time."

She rolled her eyes. "If you bite your tongue any harder it's going to come _off_."

He huffed, and stirred his coffee, even though he took it black. "You've only been dating for a few weeks, and you're already meeting his parents. Don't you think it's a little soon?"

She groaned. "Mom and my dad got married only six months after meeting each other."

"And look how well that turned out."

Hurt flashed across her face before it turned stony. "It doesn't count if she _died,_ Bellamy."

His waffles had popped, but he wasn't hungry anymore. "Well then I guess that cancels your point, too."

She scowled, but he had already turned away. He threw his waffles to Cerberus, who gobbled them up happily, then butted his leg for more. Bellamy crouched to scratch behind the brown pitbulls ears, then latched a leash onto his collar.

"We won't be back until late, 'supposed to be a big drug bust today." He said over his shoulder, more of a courtesy than anything.

Octavia made a noise of acknowledgement, but didn't say anything else.

He stepped out the door, Cerberus in tow, and into the elevator. A young blonde woman with stunningly blue eyes was already in there, and he may have stared at her for maybe a second too long.

She glared at him. "What are you looking at?"

He shook his head, a flush creeping up his neck. "I'm sorry, I've just never seen you in this building before."

She crossed her arms. "Well you must have been actively trying not to, because I work here."

Worked here? In his apartment building? He frowned. "I don't—"

The elevator hit ground level, and she jumped out into the lobby as if the box carried an infectious disease, except—it wasn't the lobby anymore.

Gurneys and stretchers lined the hallway, and a receptionist was attempting to calm down a blubbering mother. The blonde was already half way down the hall, and he hesitated before hurrying after her.

"Excuse me? I'm sorry, where am I?" He asked.

She narrowed her eyes. "In a hospital."

He waited for her to continue, and laughed slightly when she didn't. "I gathered that, yeah. Where exactly is this hospital?"

She gestured to the wall, where the words _Griffin Memorial Hospital_ were written in bold cursive letters. "Manchester, England."

He swore his eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "Manchester? England? Are you kidding?" He asked in disbelief, but now that she had said it, he could hear the slightest accent in her voice; faint, like she hadn't grown up there.

"Griffin!" Someone shouted from down the hall, and she turned. "Code blue. Stop talking to yourself and get over here!"

_Talking to herself?_

He blinked, and suddenly he was back in his building, Cerberus and the door man both giving him equally confused looks.

"Mr. Blake?" Harold asked.

He looked at him for a short moment before shaking himself. Was this some sort of psychotic break?

He hurried out the door, pushing all the images of the blonde woman out of his mind for good.

When he arrived at the precinct, the squad was already waiting outside in their field gear, glaring at him.

He held up his hands. "I know, I know, I'll be five minutes. Probably less—" He dashed through the front door, and grabbed his gear, nearly breaking an ankle on his way out again.

He slid into the front seat of a cop car with Echo, his partner, ignoring her sharp look. He kept his eyes on the road as he said, "Brief me."

She huffed, and sat back in her seat, opening the file that laid on her lap. "Amanda Sculling. 33 year old Caucasian woman. Her neighbours are always complaining about the smell of meth leaking from her apartment. She's been brought in before, but always been able to make bail. But this time—" she handed him a crisp photo of a curly headed woman at a party, cocaine residue on her nostrils. "—we have proof. And a warrant to search her apartment."

He smiled, handing the photo back. "Nice work, Detective."

She scowled. "Tell me that after we bring her in."

"Nope, sorry," He grinned. "One time only offer."

She mumbled something about a bag of dicks, but Bellamy was already half way out of the car and onto the scene, Cerberus right on his heels. "Mbege. We ready?"

The dark skinned boy nodded, and pointed to an apartment high up on the building. "Apartment 567, fifth floor."

Bellamy was already starting towards the door, headache pounding harder with every step. "Why aren't we in there already?"

Captain Pike clapped him on the shoulder. "Waiting for you, as usual."

Cerberus growled slightly, and Bellamy gave him a subtle tug on his leash. Cerberus didn't like people to begin with, but slimy, suspicious cops were on a whole other level for him.

The squad entered the building, the K-9 unit leading—which really just consisted of him, Echo, and Mbege, but still a unit none the less—and it was easy to see why Amanda chose to live here.

There were stains covering the carpet and walls, some spaces on the floor had been so worn that you could see cement peeking through. The elevator was one of the cages that had been dictated life threatening over three years ago, and Bellamy opted for the stairs. Elevators weren't his thing to begin with, let alone ones that seemed to tremble under the weight of passengers.

He and Cerberus climbed the stairs, followed by Echo and Fang, and Mbege and Sparky. The dogs sniffed each stair, and let out small whines as they went.

The smell of meth and utter filth were heading straight to his head, causing his entire skull to pulse painfully. They reached the top of the stairs, and joined the rest of the squad. He spoke in a low voice, "We knock first, then if she doesn't open willingly, Monroe will bust in the door." He made eye contact around the circle. "We don't know how many criminals will be stowed away in here, so be prepared." He added, before lightly rapping on the door.

"Amanda Sculling? NYPD, open up." When silence greeted them, he gave Monroe the go ahead.

The door gave away disturbingly easy, and they stormed the small apartment, shouting for hands to be put in the air.

"What the fuck is going on?" A olive skinned girl with dark hair slung into a ponytail asked, looking quite peeved.

Bellamy stalked towards her, handcuffs out and ready, but she jumped away, demanding to know what the fuck he thought he was doing. She wrinkled her nose when he explained. "I'm a _chemist_ , not a meth maker." She seemed insulted that he would even accuse her of such a thing.

He was about to tell her that lying wasn't going to get her very far, when he looked around, and saw that while he was still in the dingy apartment, he was also in a small office. How was it possible that he was in two places at once?

He furrowed his brow. "How—"

"Blake!" Echo shouted. "Sculling is getting away! What are you doing?"

He looked away from the girl—Raven, her name came to him in a quick flash—and snapped his eyes to Sculling, who was currently climbing out the window.

"Fuck." He seethed. "Cerberus, attack." He let the massive dog off his leash from where he had been yanking on insistently. Cerberus leaped onto the ledge, and managed to latch his teeth onto Amanda's arm before she slipped down the fire escape. She let out a squeal of pain, and scowled, but allowed Cerberus to tug her back inside the window.

"Release," He said to Cerberus, and cuffed Amanda. "Amanda Sculling, you're under arrest for the making and consumption of illegal substances. You have the right to remain silent until you've called your lawyer." He handed her off to Monroe, who manhandled her through the door.

He ran a hand over his face, then rubbed his temples ruefully.

"Well, that was awesome." Raven said.

He looked up, and he was in the small office once more. She was sitting cross legged on her desk, clunky boots crumpling the papers she rested on.

He smiled, and took a glance out the window, jaw dropping at the expanse of colours covering the streets and buildings. "India," Raven supplied.

He nodded. "Mumbai."

"Yeah." She hopped off the desk to stand beside him. "Where are you?"

"New York. Brooklyn, specifically." He paused, then furrowed his brows. "You don't have an accent."

She nodded, turning back to her desk and fiddling with a few test tubes. "I just moved here a couple years ago."

He sensed that there was some reason that she had moved here, something that she didn't want to talk about, so he didn't push. Cerberus butted his head against Bellamy's hand, and he scratched behind his ears.

Raven laughed suddenly. "Cerberus? Like the three headed dog?"

Bellamy grinned, forgetting to be surprised that she knew his name without him saying, and showed off the dogs few tricks. Sit, stay, roll over, speak, shake. "His real talent is on the field, as I'm sure you saw."

Raven nodded, and was about to reply when Echo came stomping into the room. "Blake," She barked. "What the fuck are you doing? Let's go, already."

He flushed, embarrassed he'd been caught once again. He gave a small wave to Raven, not expecting her to get up from where she sat and follow him out into the hall—if he focused on her world, he could see that they were both very much standing still.

Raven gave Echo a once over from behind, and nodded approvingly. "She's hot. Partner with benefits? Girlfriend?"

He snorted. "Pain in my ass, more like."

He was whispering, but Echo still gave him a strange look as they headed down the stairs. He and Echo had never been close, or made any effort to get close. They met three years ago, and he knew the bare minimum; she had a cat, along side Fang, sometimes had a boyfriend until she inevitably grew bored and dumped him, she lived in the fancy part of town in a _penthouse_ —that fact alone made his skin itch uncomfortably.

She probably knew less about him than he did about her, but most importantly; they both were very aware that they never wanted to have a relationship outside of working together—or outside of work, period.

He voiced these thoughts to Raven, who shrugged. "Still, might be fun."

He nodded, mock serious. "Yeah, just like how getting stabbed is _fun_."

She shoved him, and he almost couldn't comprehend that he could physically feel it. She could reach out and poke him even when they were in different parts of the world, it was completely impossible, and yet here it was, definitely happening.

Someone came into her office then, telling Raven that there was a meeting in fifteen minutes, and to bring the prototype. Bellamy did a double take when he realized she wasn't speaking english, and he could understand her clear as day.

He watched wide eyed as she exited the room, and then looked at Raven again, who laughed. "What is it?"

He shook his head, still not quite believing it himself. "It's—I could understand what she was saying."

Ravens eyes went wide. "I can speak english?"

He nodded, laughing, nearly giddy. "I guess so."

He had arrived at the car then, and after he got Cerberus situated, drove back towards the precinct with new knowledge pulsing in his brain.

\---

Octavia wasn't there when he got home, and he only felt slightly guilty for the rush of relief that goes through him.

Who was there, though—Clarke.

Her blonde hair was falling in soft waves around her shoulder, a stark contrast against the tight braid it had been in earlier. She had traded in her scrubs for a loose cotton white t-shirt, and black jeans.

Her smile was shy. "Hi."

He dropped his gym bag on the floor, more subconscious than not, and unwillingly flushed. "Hi."

She played with the ring on her right hand as she spoke. "I wasn't sure if I was going to see you again. I didn't know if I had actually seen you in the first place."

He leaned against the wall. "I was under the impression that you didn't want to."

She nodded, a little bashful. "It had been a rough day."

He grinned, and pushed off the wall, opening the fridge to grab a beer. When he turned again, he was looking at the features of what must have been her apartment. It was really more like a studio, with a bed under the large window, and art splayed across the walls. The kitchen, where he was standing, was really just a counter with a fridge, and some tile.

He looked up, and saw that she had situated herself on the couch in the middle of the room. He held up his beer, "You want one?"

She considered, then nodded. He snatched another and hit the door closed with his hip, walking over to where she sat.

She accepted the beer with a smile, gesturing to the couch for him to sit. He did.

"Shouldn't we be freaking out about this more?" He asked, after a few moments in silence.

She shrugged. "Monty said that it's not that hard to wrap your head around if you think of yourself as a completely different race; homo sensorium. He also said—"

"Woah, woah, wait. Monty?"

She paused, then laughed. "He's a scientist in Bangkok. You haven't met him yet?"

He shook his head. "No, I guess not. Have you met Raven?"

"Yes, her and I also didn't get off to a great start." Her smile was sheepish.

"You seem to be having a lot of that today." He grinned.

She laughed, and shoved him, fond. They talked for the rest of the evening, asking questions even though most of the time they already knew the answer. They talked about Becca, and Clarke said she didn't think the dream was actually a dream at all; they skipped over that topic quickly. He'd went through a couple of beers, but he wasn't feeling overly tipsy, just—light. More than he had in a long time.

Midnight had come and gone by the time he realized Octavia should have been home by now. He hadn't gotten any texts, and even though usually he'd expect that, she normally let him know if she wasn't planning on coming home.

He kept unlocking his phone to an empty inbox, his anxiety rising each time.

"What's wrong?" Clarke asked, after he began to pace.

He raked his hands through his hair. "My sister—Octavia—she should be home by now."

She bit her lip in a smile. "Remind me to make fun of you for being so into mythological names later. When does she normally get home?"

He glanced at the clock. "Three? Four hours ago?"

She stood up, too. "Is it possible that she had a client run late? Getting a—wow, really late dinner with some friends?"

He shrugged. "She could be at her boyfriends."

She cocked her head. "But she'd usually text you to tell you that."

He nodded, and began to pace again. What could she be doing? Did she not have time to send a simple text? Why couldn't she just let him know where she was without her making a big deal?

His breathing was getting too quick, but he didn't notice, nor did he care.

Clarke planted her hands on each of his arms. "Bellamy, breathe. I'm sure Octavia is fine. But she won't be if she comes home to her brother passed out on the floor—come sit. Please."

He allowed himself to guided back to the couch, and he matched his breathing to Clarke's just so she would stop her fretting. She took his phone then, and dialled Octavia. It rang a few times, and then she sighed. Putting her hand over the speaker, she said to him, "Voicemail. Hi, Octavia. Just wondering if you were planning on coming home sometime tonight. Let me know. Bye." She hung up and handed him back the phone.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized Octavia wouldn't hear Clarke's voice, but his own. "We should probably get some sleep."

She nodded, and stood, stretching her arms up over her head enough that her belly button peeked out from her shirt rode up. He looked away.

She climbed into bed, clapping her hands so that the lights turned off. "Goodnight, Bellamy."

"Goodnight, Clarke." He walked forward a couple steps, and her apartment transformed into his own once more.

\---

Octavia wasn't home when he woke up, nor did it seem like she'd been home and left again.

He tried to tell himself that her phone was dead, and she'd forgotten her charger, and she was staying at Lincolns completely safe and sound. (His gut said that something was completely and terrifyingly wrong—he did his best to ignore it.)

He ended up meeting Monty on the subway—Bellamy was already running late and hadn't had time to stop for gas that he desperately needed—and Monty expanded on the whole other race thing.

"You can tell yourself you're still human, but you're really not. You're much more intelligent, and have much more room for knowledge than the above average mind. You also feel more, hurt more, love more—you're constantly experiencing the feelings of seven other people. It should be overwhelming—but I've found it almost rejuvenating." He crossed his legs under him with a smile.

Bellamy was shocked. "And you've found all this out in two days?"

Monty furrowed his brow. "Of course not. I had been looking into the concept of homo sensoriums for quite a while, but when Becca came to me, it gave me the push to dive in completely."

"Who are the others? Have you met all of them?"

He nodded. "Most only briefly. Clarke, Raven, and Miller were the longest interactions. But Murphy, Lexa, and Luna only lasted maybe a minute. They were all quite busy."

Monty filled him in on the rest of the sensates. Nathan Miller was a half struggling actor living in Kenya—only _half_ struggling because he was still _half_ living off his trust fund, but he was weening himself off it. John Murphy was apparently a world renowned canadian chef, with a little drug smuggling on the side to keep things interesting. Lexa Bos was a trained professional fighter who grew up in Australia. She was supposed to take over her fathers company, but she pretty much flat out refused. And Luna Wasser was a german key maker, who had a knack for breaking into safes in her spare time.

Bellamy couldn't help it—he laughed. And he couldn't _stop_ laughing, everyone on the subway were beginning to give him funny looks. Monty swore under his breath. "I thought you were a cop, shouldn't you be going to work at least a little sober?"

Finally, the slight override in emotions fizzled out, and Bellamy was wiping tears from his eyes. Talking into his phone, like he'd been pretending to do for the entirety of their conversation, he let Monty in on the joke. "I have seven other people living in my mind. I now speak _seven_ languages. My head still feels like my brain is trying to bust out of my skull, and am I sure any of this is real? No. Has it crossed my mind that maybe I'm in some institution with my hands tied behind my back? Yes, many times actually—" He paused, there was a point to his ramble. Oh, yes. "My point is, what's happening to me could mean I have some infectious disease that causes me to hallucinate other races that logically should not exist, but it could also very well mean that I'm apart of this clearly miraculous phenomenon." He sighed contently, sitting back in his seat and giving Cerberus a fond pat on the head.

Monty just shook his head. "Like I said, consider going to work sober."

\---

When he got into work, he noticed that Pike wasn't sitting at his desk, or barking orders, or in someway making his life miserable—Bellamy was almost concerned.

He jerked his head in the direction of the captains office. "Where's Pike?"

Echo didn't even glance up from her desk. "Hasn't been in yet today."

"I have a feeling we don't like this Pike guy." Clarke said. He spun to see that she was sitting on his desk, eating chips.

He grinned. "That's an understatement."

"What?" Echo said.

Bellamy just shook his head, and sat at his desk while Clarke played with Cerberus. Bellamy noticed that Cerberus reacted to her as if she were actually there, and he wondered if he could see her too.

"Any sign of Octavia?" Clarke asked from the floor.

He shook his head, and considered talking aloud to himself, then thought better of it, and typed out his response on the computer.

**I know you might think I'm overreacting, but I definitely think something is wrong.**

Clarke was back to sitting on his desk, and typed her answer, too. _i definitely think u dont need 2 have perfect spelling n punctuation rite now_

He levelled her with a look. **This is serious.**

_all th more reason 2 not waste time_

He ignored her, and continued to use amazing spelling and punctuation—thank you very much.

**I can't file a missing persons report until she's been missing for twenty four hours.**

She glowered. "Is it necessary to type out _numbers_ , too?"

He shrugged, then gestured to the keyboard when she continued to glare.

_what about ur boss? couldnt he go over some peoples heads?_

**Not for me, he wouldn't.**

She pouted, and then looked around the room, she brightened when she found what she was looking for. "What about her? The pretty blonde with the tattoos. I feel like anyone would anything for her."

He raised his eyebrows at her, forgetting to type. "Do you want her number or something?"

A few heads swivelled in his direction, and he ducked his eyes. Clarke pretended to think about it. "I do like pretty girls."

**That's Harper. I could probably ask her but I don't want to put her in a weird position. Pike is a slimy dude.**

"Bummer." Clarke said, when she finished reading. She kicked her legs back and forth where they hung off the desk. Suddenly, she turned to him, mischief lighting up her eyes.

"What?" He asked, again, forgetting that he looked as if he was talking to himself.

She shook her head and jumped off the desk, pulling him from his chair in excitement. "Come on, come on."

"What?" He asked again, it came out in a laugh.

She led him to the tech room, where most of their online files were stored and nearly all of the work for cases was done. The main computer was also stationed there, and Clarke began typing away on it with no hesitation.

"What are you—?" He began to ask, but her squeal of joy cut him off.

She turned to him, dimples practically glowing. "I remembered that all cop cars have gps's installed, including Pikes. So I did a quick search of his particular cop car and—" she turned the monitor towards him, where a small red light blinked at him. "—I found him rather quickly."

He was slightly stunned, but once he got over that, he was asking Harper to take care of Cerberus for a bit and out the door and jogging down the stairs towards the metro station.

On the train, he tapped his fingers nervously on his knees. He didn't know why he chasing Pike, it's not like it was going to do any good, he wouldn't allow Bellamy is file a report until Octavia had been missing for at least twenty four hours. But he did know that he couldn't just sit at the office all day and do dumb paperwork while his sister was potentially in danger—this was the closest he was getting to helping her for right now.

Clarke was drinking in the sights greedily, pressing her nose up against the very dirty window. He watched her with curiosity, his earlier inner struggle forgotten for the moment. "Don't you have a job?"

She startled out of her gawking, and sat back down. He focused on Manchester for a moment, and saw she was in her apartment; she was painting Brooklyn. She was painting it as she saw it now, bright blue sky against brilliantly tall buildings. He couldn't help but stare.

"It's breathtaking." He breathed, looking over her shoulder in awe.

She gave him a funny look. "You see it all the time, are you just now realizing that?"

He pinched her in protest, and flopped down onto her couch. "All I ever see is crime—seriously, I don't know why so many people want to live here. Our crime rate is alarming, Clarke, _alarming_."

She rolled her eyes, and added a few birds in the sky of her painting before setting down her brushes. "Are you really fuelling all your worry for Octavia onto all of New York? That seems a little deflective, Bellamy."

He threw a pillow at her. "Don't make fun of my coping mechanisms, it's incredibly rude. As is purposefully avoiding questions."

She laughed, then settled on the couch next to him. "My job is none of your concern." She paused, somber. "If anything has happened, you know it's not your fault, right?"

His hands were starting to shake, and he clenched them to hide it. "But what if it is?"

"Bellamy—"

"No, I'm serious. She and I had a fight that morning, nothing awful, but I wasn't exactly supportive of her meeting her boyfriends parents—"

"She _has_ only been dating him for 2.2 seconds."

"—and maybe she ran off and now she's missing, Clarke. How am I supposed to live with myself if something has happened to her? What if she never does get to meet his parents because of me? What if—"

"You can't live your life by what ifs, Bellamy." She placed a hand over his clenched ones, and he loosened them automatically. "We don't know if she's in trouble, but if she is, we need to have a good head on our shoulders."

He mulled over her words, agreeing whole heartedly but begrudgingly, then a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "We?"

She picked up her sketch book, avoiding his gaze. "Of course. We're in this together."

\---

The blinking red light led them to the diner beside the airport, and that's where they were now sat.

"He's not here." He whispered to Clarke, who was slurping on a milkshake.

"Do you have a picture of him? Ask some people if they've seen him." She added around a piece of pie.

He nodded, and pulled up a picture on his phone. Flagging down the waitress, he flashed her the screen. "Have you seen this man?"

The waitress lit up in a smile, swiping the phone from his grasp to get a better look. "Oh, yes! Charles is a lovely man, always orders the same thing; cherry pie with a dollop— _just_ a dollop—of whipped cream. It's home made! Would you like some?"

Bellamy's smile was forced. "No, thank you, that's alright. Have you seen— _Charles_ —today?"

She nodded enthusiastically, handing the phone back. "He wasn't quite himself, seemed on edge, was awfully short with me. And he's usually here alone—"

"Usually?" His ears were perked. "Was someone with him?"

"Yes," She replied, leaning a hip against the table. "A pretty young thing was with him. Had the most brilliant eyes—"

Bellamy had a hard time staying in his seat. "Brown hair? Green eyes? Fairly short but looks like she could kill you with her bare hands?"

She raised her eyebrows, nodding slowly. "Yes, I'd say that's a very accurate description."

Bellamy glanced at Clarke, who had her milkshake frozen half way to her mouth. He turned back to—Roma, read her name tag. "Do you happen to know where they went?"

She popped her bubblegum. "'Said they were taking a trip. Had a flight booked for twelve sharp."

He slapped a few bills on the table, darting around Roma to get to the door, slinging on his jacket as he went. "Thank you, Roma, you've been a great help."

"You're welcome, sugar!"

The door slammed behind them, and Clarke nearly had to run to keep up with him.

"Does Octavia know Pike? What would she being doing—?"

"I don't know. He couldn't have—"

"No. He couldn't. Why would he?"

"I—"

"You know, I feel really left out of this conversation guys. I suggest actually _finishing_ your sentences."

They both whirled around to see a curly headed girl with playful brown eyes staring at them. "What?"

Bellamy glanced at Clarke, who looked just as clueless as him. "Who—?"

"I'm Luna." She cocked a hip. "AKA your life saver. How were you planning on getting to the airport? On foot?" She laughed.

"Ah," Bellamy said, finally remembering. "The criminal."

Luna shrugged. "I prefer the term 'professional rule bender', if you don't mind." She then began breaking into a car.

In a matter of seconds, the door was open and Luna was dangling a pair of keys in her hand. Bellamy shook his head, then begrudgingly took the keys. "This goes against every I believe in as a cop."

"I believe the words you're looking for are thank you." Luna said from the backseat. Any witnesses wouldn't have seen Luna, but Bellamy, breaking into the car. He really hoped there weren't any witnesses.

His hands were slick on the steering wheel as Clarke caught Luna up on everything. His headache hadn't dulled in the slightest, in fact, he was sure it had gotten worse ever since he figured out that Octavia was with Pike. What was she doing? What was _he_ doing? Why did the thought of them together make his stomach tie itself in knots?

He didn't realize he was speeding until the familiar flashing blue and red lights came up behind him. "Fuck." He said, already moving to pull over—

But suddenly, he wasn't driving anymore.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He asked Luna, who was now seated in the drivers seat, going much faster than he had been.

"If we stop, there's a for sure chance we'll never catch up with them," she swerved around a red civic, the smile on her face manic. "But what's a little speeding ticket? Screw the police."

"I am the police!" He protested.

"Oh," she said, turning to look him up and down. "I didn't notice."

Clarke grabbed the steering wheel from the passenger seat, jerking them out of the way from running head first into the cement walls.

"If you're going to drive this fast," He said through gritted teeth, heart in his throat. "At the very least, keep your eyes on the road."

She gave him a mock salute in the rearview mirror, and a tall dark man appeared in the middle of the road.

"Luna!" Clarke screamed.  
"Watch out!" Bellamy shouted at the same time.

But apparently, there was no need, because the car drove right through the man as if he were a light fog. Seemingly synchronized, the three passengers whipped their heads to the back window, where they expected to see a gory mess painting the highway. But there was nothing. (Minus the police car, of course.)

Clarke recovered first. "Is everyone alright?"

Luna nodded, focusing back on the road and her heavy foot. Bellamy nodded, too, even if he hands were trembling slightly. "Everyone saw that, right?"

Luna let out a shaky laugh. "Holograms. Who would have thought?"

Clarke, pointedly ignoring her, turned to look at Bellamy. "Unless it was another sensate."

He raised his eyebrows. "One from our—?"

"I don't think—"

"Yeah, he looked too—"

"Old." She nodded. "Is it even possible—?"

"Oh my fucking god," Luna groaned. "If you two don't stop doing that I swear I will crash this car."

"Sorry." They both said, flushes rising on their necks.

Luna rolled her eyes. "Becca told me about someone before she—you know. She said something about Thelonious? Maybe that was him."

"Who is—" Clarke began, but they had arrived at the airport, and Bellamy was practically tumbling from the car already.

"Stop! Stop him!" The police said, running after him into the airport.

Goddammit, he had almost forgot about them. He checked his watch—11:57am—and swore, lengthening his stride.

Luna knocked over some luggage, and sent the cops sprawling; Clarke gave her an enthusiastic high five.

Finally, they slid into the front desk, panting. "What flights are leaving at noon?"

The stewardess didn't seem to notice that he was in a hurry. "Flights to Australia, Alaska, and Iceland are all scheduled to leave at twelve o'clock, sharp." She droned.

He looked to the girls, flopping his hands frantically. "She could be on any one of those flights!" He pushed his hands through his hair, then let his head thump onto to the table.

"Sir?" The stewardess said, taking the smallest step back.

He lifted his head, letting out an embarrassingly noticeable sniffle. "My sister—"

Metal bit into his wrists and rough hands spun him around. "No, sir, I'm a cop—please don't—"

The older gentleman glared. "Where's your badge?"

Bellamy reached for his belt automatically, but didn't find anything there. "It must be in the car—"

"You mean the one you stole?"

Bellamy scrambled to come up with some sort of explanation, panic rearing up inside him. "My sister, I believe she was abducted. It was for her—"

The cop held up a hand. "I don't care what the motive was, my job is to bring you in. Let's go." The man pushed him in front of him, and Bellamy kept his gaze down. Brooklyn wasn't one of those places where everyone knew everyone, but nearly everyone knew Bellamy; and his face burned with shame as he was pushed through the throng of people who trusted him to keep them safe.

He was shoved into the back of the police car, and the door slammed after him. "Well," He said, staring at the bars that kept criminals contained. "This is strange."

The cop—Detective Arnold, read his badge—climbed in the drivers seat and fiddled with the radio before settling on one that played old country. Bellamy cringed at the sudden static that filled the car, but Arnold didn't seem to care.

Soon, he was sitting in a holding cell, being read his rights as if they weren't already imprinted in the back of his mind.

There were some other guys in there, one with an impressively long beard, and one in his underwear. And one was sitting on Bellamy's bench, dark jeans and t-shirt, and an overcoat dragging on the floor.

The man lifted his head, and Bellamy could hardly contain his gasp. "You," He pointed at him, accusatory. "You're the guy from the road."

He had dark skin, and a pepper and salt goatee. He gave a grave nod with his completely shaved head. "My name is Thelonious."

Bellamy reached to shake his hand, but Thelonious continued to stare straight ahead. "Um," He retracted his hand. "I'm Bellamy."

The corner of his mouth quirked, but Bellamy wasn't sure if it was a smile or a grimace. "Yes, I know. I was there when you were born."

Bellamy knew he didn't mean twenty eight years ago. "Are you my—?"

Thelonious shook his head. "Sensates only have one parent, because either gender can birth them. But," he sighed. "I did love your mother."

Bellamy felt a wrench in his gut, because he would never have the chance to even know Becca, let alone love her. Thelonious had a pained look on his face, and he wasn't sure if he should ask any more questions, but he was right here. "Does that mean that Monty, and Luna, and—" he choked on Clarke's name, not quite realizing why. He coughed. "Are they my... my siblings?"

Thelonious shook his head, and Bellamy breathed a sigh of relief.

"But you still shouldn't think about starting anything with Clarke."

He snapped his head up to see Thelonious was staring at him, something that looked like understanding in his eyes. "I wasn't—it's not— _I'm_ not—" Bellamy stuttered. "I just met her."

Thelonious' smile was sad. "And you're already wondering how it's possible that you've come to trust her so quickly."

Bellamy was shocked, and Thelonious have a half-hearted chuckle. "I know, because I felt the same way about Becca. I had only just met her, and already I was falling in love with her." He had a nostalgic look on his face for a moment, but he seemed to remember the topic at hand and the stony gaze returned. "But it was wrong. Loving her. Being with her. And it was ultimately what made her—" he snapped his mouth closed, unable to even utter the words out loud.

Bellamy looked away, unable to hold the mans unnerving gaze. He swallowed, feeling his throat beginning to close up with emotion, and decided that he'd heard enough.

"Blaming yourself," he started. "Is not going to bring her back. Regretting all that time you spent together, it's only going to make you feel like shit. And you deserve better— _she_ deserves better. Don't ruin her memory with what ifs..." Clarke's words echoed in his mind, grounded him; he met Thelonious' eyes. "Because soon, what you two had will begin to slip... and all that will be left is what you thought you should have done to save her—and what you didn't do."

Thelonious' eyes were wide with surprise, but also a hint of respect. "It sounds as if you speak from experience."

Bellamy didn't give away any signs to indicate that he was right. He kept his face cold. Distant. He had, of course, had experience with losing someone to their own hand. His mother—his first one—had overdosed, saddling him with a teenager who had barely started high school, who didn't think she needed to be looked after.

He'd been angry for a long time, alternating between blaming Aurora and then himself. And then he'd realized that holding onto that bitterness—that self loathing, wasn't doing him any good.

He still thought about it, what his life would be like if his mother hadn't been selfish, hadn't succumbed to the cruelty of the world. Hadn't altered his life in more ways than he could possibly count.

But Thelonious didn't need to know any of this. "I read it on a hallmark card once." He said, stopping the smile from reaching his eyes.

The men on the other benches had been watching him warily, and looked utterly relieved when Echo showed up to retrieve him.

Thelonious had vanished, but Bellamy hoped this wasn't the last he'd hear of him.

\---

He put out a missing persons report the next day, pinning up posters, and asking his squad to spread the word.

"We'll find her." Harper said, squeezing his shoulder before heading back to her own desk.

He hadn't told any of them that Pike was the reason she was gone, that he had kidnapped her. Mostly, because he didn't have any proof, and also because he was sure they'd think he was just itching for someone to blame.

He practically chained himself to his desk, filing paperwork to keep his hands occupied, and to keep his mind from wandering.

There were times though, where his mind slipped its leash. What did Pike want with Octavia? Was it possible that she willingly went with him? What was the real reason why Becca killed herself? Who had she seen that pushed her over the edge? When in the fuck would this headache ever end?

Needless to say, his brain was fried by the time five o'clock rolled around.

Raven was in his car, frowning at her laptop. She had been combing through the internet, hacking airport security to see if she could spot Pike or Octavia milling about. But Iceland, Alaska and Australia were gigantic, and with no way to narrow down exactly where they had gone—

"I think I've got it." Monty said, popping up in the back seat.

Bellamy was still getting used to it. "Got what?"

"I think I know where Pike took Octavia."

He pushed down the kernel of hope that rose in his chest. "How?"

Monty tucked his legs under him as he began to explain. "In the past five years, missing sensate numbers have been growing considerably. They vanish without a trace, and are never heard from again. But a few weeks ago, someone came back..." He paused, gauging Bellamy and Ravens reactions. "Linda Zoki. She was tortured, and her mind was basically mush. But she was coherent enough to say that she had been on an island, a very cold island."

Raven furrowed her brow. "Iceland?"

"Exactly." Monty said, thrilled. "So I did a little searching, and found this delightful company that claimed to sell cans of sardines—" the trio all visibly shuddered. "—but when I did some digging, their numbers didn't add up. Neither did their start up story they have posted to their obviously fake website. That was when the hacking started." He threw a guilty look Bellamy's way, who just sighed, and gestured for him to continue. "Disturbingly, what the company actually does is much worse than selling tiny slimy fish."

The company—officially known as Fiskur, unofficially known as Sensate Slaughter House—hunted down sensates and butchered them. Sometimes for information, sometimes just to prove that they could.

Bellamy frowned. "But what does Pike or Octavia have to do with this?"

Monty grinned, clearly anticipating this question. "Pike, or Francis Foley, is the head of the company."

 

 


	2. conclusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tip: if it's not exclusively said that a sensate is actually present, they're not actually there

"You've found him."

Bellamy whipped around, heart lodged in his throat, to find Thelonious staring down at his research. He had pictures of Pike—he could not get onto calling him _Francis_ —pictures from when he was younger, and in recent years. Bank statements, receipts, he even found an old grocery list from 2012. (He didn't know how that was going to help him, but he wasn't about to leave anything to chance.)

Bellamy swallowed. "You know him?"

"Any sensate with half a brain knows him. He's—feared. Immensely."

He cupped the back of his neck. "So if I told you I'm planning on going after him—"

"I'd say you were walking a very thin line between bravery and stupidity." He paused, then shook his head. "No, actually, you've crossed into stupidity—surpassed it even."

He scowled. "Thanks for the boost of confidence."

Thelonious didn't answer for a moment, sorting through a few pictures of Octavia that were also laid out on the table. "He tortured Becca, toyed with her mind, drove her to drugs just to have a few moments of peace." He took a shaky breath. "Looking into his eyes links you to him—anything you see, he sees too. He used Becca to hunt the rest of our cluster, picking them off one by one. He was ruthless; carving into their skin, breaking their fingers, confusing their memories, never letting them know what was real and what wasn't—but he wouldn't let them die. He wouldn't allow them have the smallest amount of rest."

Something wet dripped down Bellamy's cheek, and he hastily wiped away the tear.

Thinking about Octavia in the hands of that man made him want to throw up. "Why? Why would he do that to his own kind? What does he get out of it?"

Thelonious steeled his gaze. "When the government discovered sensates, what they could do, how powerful they were—they were frightened. They didn't give themselves time to get used the idea of another species, they simply decided that we were dangerous and should be pushed out of existence.

"They specially bred Whispers to be more powerful than the average sensate; they injected him with serums, made him stronger and more capable. He's unstoppable."

Bellamy was shaking his head before the sentence was even finished. "I can't accept that. I won't. He has to be stopped. He has to have some sort of weakness. I can't just stand back and watch as my kind gets run out of existence. I have to do _something_ —I have to at least try."

Thelonious stared at him for a long moment, seeming to contemplate his words. Finally, he nodded. "No one has ever discovered his real name—it's a start."

\---

Clarke frowned. "But if he was bred to hunt us, what does he want with Octavia?"

He paused. "I don't know."

She chewed on her cucumber, and made a face. "This is disgusting."

He rolled his eyes. "It's _healthy_ , something I know you're not familiar with."

She glowered, then pointed her cucumber accusingly in his direction. "Food should not be green. _Anyway_ , what if he took Octavia just to lure us to him? What if she's completely fine and we're walking blindly into a trap?"

He shoved a few more clothing items into his duffel bag. "You know I can't take that chance."

She slouched from her seat on his bed, throwing away the remainder of the cucumber. "I know. Just—something to think about."

He shook his head. "I can't hope that she's fine, because then I'll start to let myself off the hook, and that isn't right because it's my fault that she's in this situation and it's my fault that she's probably hurt and—"

Clarke was off the bed and by his side in a flash, turning him towards her. "Hey, woah, where did that come from? Bellamy, Octavia is a big girl; she can handle herself. She teaches marital arts, she can defend herself. And even if she couldn't, it _still_ wouldn't be your fault."

He dropped his eyes, and she ducked to catch them again. "Do you hear me?"

He sighed, and attempted a smile, before tucking her to his chest. He couldn't believe that someone who was all the way across the world was able to have such a monumental impact on him. He was this close to believing what she was saying.

He buried his face into her neck, taking her in for what might have been the last time.

"Thank you." He breathed.

He felt her link her hands behind his back, and pull him flush against her. "Anytime."

\---

He jackknifed in bed, sweat dribbling down his back, fear pounding in his chest.

In his dream, be dreamt that Clarke had been taken by Fiskur, that they broke her bones, and ripped her hair out of her skull. He told himself that it was just a dream, that she was fine, and that he was just paranoid.

He tried to visit her anyway, searching for the link between them. Pulling on it.

But it was dark.

Panic reared up inside him, and his breathing became shallow, coming out in short bursts. He threw himself out of bed, and reached down the other bonds he was connected to as he pulled on his clothes.

Soon, six other sensates filled his room, all sharing the same fear on their faces.

"Clarke?" Raven asked.

He shook his head. "I can't—I can't reach her. Can any of you—?"

They all shook their heads, and his heart hammered harder against his ribs.

Monty started typing on his computer, and they all shifted to his apartment. "We're all thinking the same thing, right?"

Raven began hitting her keyboard too, both working in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Bellamy began to pace, biting on his thumb nail anxiously.

"Ah ha!" Raven said, pointing at her screen enthusiastically. "I hacked the security cameras at the airport near her and I found her a couple of men in suspiciously nice suits boarding together."

Bellamy had already grabbed his bag and was out the door.

He went down the stairs two at a time, too impatient to wait for the elevator. (He didn't know how he was going to make it through a six hour plane ride.)

Unsurprisingly, a small amount of people were headed to Iceland at four in the morning, and he was able to secure a ticket easily. He hurried through security, making almost all the guards think he was hiding something, which took up more of his time—which started a vicious cycle he had no interest in participating in.

He did his best on the plane to think about anything else but Clarke, what was happening to her, how he was going to make Pike pay for any pain he put her through.

He was devastatingly unsuccessful.

\---

He didn't know what he expected the facility to look like, large and daunting? Possibly. Bright and cheerful? Certainly not.

But he couldn't deny that it was the latter.

There were paintings on the walls, and sunshine filtered in through the gigantic ceiling windows. The employees smiled at him brightly as he almost jogged through the unending amount of halls. The ceilings were high, supported by three feet thick pillars. If he didn't know any better, he'd honestly think they did nothing but actually sell fish here.

He stopped behind a wall, peeking around it to watch the men waiting for the elevator—they were pushing a body bag.

He searched again for the bond that connected him to Clarke, and—he felt her. The tiniest flicker of life was at the end of the bond; his knees nearly buckled in relief.

"Clarke?" It was Luna who asked it this time. He checked behind him, beyond his cluster that was lined up behind him, looking for anyone that might try and stop him from getting on that elevator.

Not seeing anyone, he nodded at Luna. "She's here. Raven? Can you get into the cameras in the basement of this inappropriately cheery hell hole?"

"Already on it."

He looked at the men again, who were now loading the gurney with the body bag onto the elevator. Lexa appeared beside him, cracking her knuckles.

She looked at him, and her smile was _feline_. "Let's go get her."

Lexa walked calmly towards the men, feet making next to no noise on the tile floor. She tapped one of them lightly on the shoulder, and when he turned, he received a blinding sucker punch.

He fell backwards against the wall, cupping his jaw in pain. The other moved to strike Lexa, but she caught his forearm, and twisted it hard enough that he was forced to spin away from her. She kicked the back of his knee, knocking it out from under him. The one with the rapidly swelling jaw rushed at her, but she jumped out of the way in time that he only succeeded in plowing down the other man. She yanked them both off the floor by the backs of their collars, tossing them out of the elevator with strength no one should possess.

When they began crawling away from her, she beckoned the sensates to follow her into the elevator. Bellamy's knuckles were tender to touch, but he barely registered the pain.

"I found her." Raven said. "She's in the basement, and—oh my god."

"Raven, what is it?" He asked, fear caving in his chest.

She glanced at him, and the look in her eyes told him enough. "Hurry, Bellamy."

"But the guards—" He started.

"It's handled." Monty said. " _Go_."

The elevator arrived at basement level, and he nearly pried the doors open to get through. Bile rose in his throat at the sight.

Sensates—dead and alive—were laid out on black gurneys, skulls cut open and rotting, skin clinging onto their bones like a foul odour—he wasn't even going to acknowledge the beating his nostrils were enduring. Keeping his head down, he walked through the isles as calmly as he could manage. Any glimpse of blonde hair sent his blood rushing, and then it inevitably almost completely halted when it wasn't Clarke.

His cluster trailed behind him, hands over their mouths and noses, appall engraved into their features.

"Any directions you want to hand out, Reyes?" He asked quietly, surprised at how steady his voice sounded.

"Take a left. Now a right. Walk _faster_. Another left. She's—"

He nearly collapsed when he saw her; strapped down to the table, seemingly frozen except her eyes, which were darting around madly. The man— _Pike_ —stood over her with a small buzz saw in his hands, holding it over her dauntingly.

Bellamy reacted before he thought, he tackled Pike from behind, slamming his head into the ground—surprisingly unintentionally—and driving his knee into his gut. The man sputtered, then his eyes dawned with recognition.

His mouth was bloody when he smiled. "Detective Blake. So nice to see you—"

Bellamy's knuckles connected with Pike's cheek, causing a sickening crack of bone against bone. He hit him again. And again. And again.

Pike tried to speak through the assault. "Although—" hit. "—the circumstances—" hit. "—are rather—" hit. "—unfortunate."

When his hand turned entirely numb, he grabbed Pike by the collar and hauled him roughly up off the ground. "I'm going to _kill_ you."

Pike coughed, struggling against Bellamy's iron like grip around his neck. "You—you can't. I'm viable. I have information that you _need_ —"

Bellamy shoved him into a chair, tying his wrists and ankles just tight enough to slow circulation. "I don't need anything from you, Francis. Take a look around, do you notice anyone coming to your rescue? Do you notice anyone that's on your side at all?" Pike surveyed the nearly empty basement, gulping. Bellamy smirked. "You made those special pills so I wouldn't be able to reach Clarke telepathically, so I had a friend of mine whip up a little something for your side. You know, to keep the playing field even."

It was Raven and Monty who discovered the blockers in Clarke's system, who duplicated them _almost_ exactly. Fiskur's pills stopped telepathic communications between _all_ sensates—while Raven's only blocked sensates outside their cluster. But Bellamy knew they needed a lot more than a stealthy entrance to outsmart Pike, so he asked her if there was a way she could manipulate Pike's men into being on their side.

She'd hesitated, actually looking nervous. "There is a way. But it's—it's still in progress. It's a prototype. I don't even know if it'll work for extended periods of time—or work at all, for that matter. And—"

Bellamy cut her off with a surprised laugh; he'd never seen her look so unsure of herself. "Raven, we need to use everything we've got—if it backfires, at least we'll know we did everything we could."

She paused, then nodded twice, as if assuring herself. "It's mind controlling serum. I found some traces of it in dog food—put in it to make them more obedient—and I concentrated it, and made it stronger. It's easy to replicate, but—" she heaved a sigh. "—I've never tested it."

Bellamy smiled, easy, and hopped up onto the counter. "Meet your first test subject."

There had been side effects—ones he didn't want to discuss _or_ remember—but eventually she'd found the perfect recipe. They tracked down the person in charge of manning the water supply, and gave him the first dose; it had taken care of itself from there. He almost couldn't believe how easy it had been.

He relayed all of this to Pike, watching his fear grow more noticeable with each passing minute. He swallowed audibly. "What—what does the serum do?"

His smile was that of a predator who'd just caught it's dinner. "Whatever the hell we want. Including—" he ticked each item off on his fingers. "Leaving the company with completely different memories about what went on here, remembering you as just a terrible and cruel boss they once had—oh, and we also planted some seeds of lawsuit; just for kicks."

Pike's eyes were nearly bulging out of his head. "The—the company—"

"It's gone. Like it was never there." Bellamy let the smile slip from his face, and reeled back his arm, knocking Pike out with a single blow. "Poof."

Clarke stirred on the table beside him. "Bell—Bellamy?"

He had his hands all over her in an instant, checking for broken bones, bruises, and signs of harm. "You're okay, it's all taken care of. I've got you." He undid the straps holding her down, and she practically threw herself into his arms.

He wrapped his arms just as tightly around her, nuzzling his face into her neck. He felt her curl her fingers around the fabric at his neck. "I couldn't reach you—I couldn't warn you. It was like you were—"

"I know. I know." He smoothed down her hair. "I'll tell you everything later. Let's get out of here first."

She loosened her grip on him slightly. "Where's Octavia?"

"Raven's still scrounging through the camera footage to find her, if she can't, I'll just get it out of him." He jerked his chin in Pike's direction, who was still unconscious, and Clarke smiled up at him.

Her grin was contagious. "What?"

She shook her head, still smiling. "I'm just—happy you found me."

He pressed a light kiss to her forehead, not able to form words at that moment.

He helped her off the table, and it seemed like that was as long as the rest of their cluster could wait. Suddenly they were all there, crowding around them, checking Clarke over for injuries, clapping Bellamy on the back, chattering excitedly about how they managed to pull it off.

"Bellamy?"

It all came to a screeching halt.

He turned slowly in the direction of the voice, to find Octavia staring at him.

She looked relatively the same, he couldn't identify any apparent wounds, and the scowl she always wore when she looked at him was still very much present.

He stepped towards her. "Octavia, we were looking for you—"

She took two steps back. "You're the reason I'm here in the first place. _You're_ the reason Francis took me. If it weren't for you and your— _kind_ , none of this would be happening! I can't believe you would do this to me!"

Clarke put herself in front of him, and all but growled at his sister. "Are you even hearing yourself? _He_ is why I'm not dead right now. _He's_ why this actual _slaughter_ house isn't running anymore." Clarke was advancing towards Octavia with every word, voice growing more agitated with every syllable. She stopped two inches in front of Octavia's nose. "And as for our _kind?_ You shouldn't be so quick to blame us for something, especially when you have no idea _what_ we're capable of."

Octavia's eyes narrowed as she looked between he and Clarke. "Are you sleeping with him, or something? Because I've only seen whores be this devoted to my brother."

"Why you little—" Clarke hissed, and lunged for Octavia, but Bellamy was faster; grabbing her at the waist from behind and tugging her backwards.

Clarke was spitting out profanities, still struggling against him to charge at his sister. "Clarke. _Clarke_. Calm down, alright?" He looked at Octavia, and finally realized how stupid he'd been; she never appreciated what he'd tried to give her. "She's not worth it." And she'd never have the chance.

Clarke tore her gaze away from Octavia to look at him, as if checking if he was being serious. He brushed a thumb against her jaw, sharing a smile that was just meant for them, and threw Octavia one last cold look.

"Find your own way home. And when you get there, start packing and find a new place to live. Because I'm done." His voice was flat and emotionless, and he was surprised at how easy the words came out, as if they'd been waiting too long for this moment.

Octavia was still sputtering as they made their way upstairs.

\---

_Six months later - Australia_

He flopped off of her, still panting, only to have her crawl right back on top of him.

He tossed his forearm over his eyes and groaned. "Don't you ever wear out? I need a minute to regain my strength, goddammit."

She laughed, and pushed herself off of him, claiming his shirt to wear around the house. "Does baby need some breakfast?"

He peeked out at her, grinning, at both the statement and her in his clothes. "Maybe."

She bounded back onto the bed to peck him quickly before skipping to the kitchen.

He checked to make sure she was gone before moving to root around in his nightstand. He pulled out a navy velvet box, and opened it, running his thumb over the ring inside.

 _Tonight_ , he vowed, _tonight I'll propose_.

He heard a crash from the kitchen, and quickly shoved the box back into its drawer before dashing out to see what she'd broken this time.

She looked up sheepishly from the floor when he skidded in, plates scattered on the floor along with their breakfast. "I guess we know now that I'm not a waitress." 

He gave her a pouty lip. "Babe, we discovered that a long time ago. " He moved to help her up, and she slumped against the counter, eyebrows furrowed in disappointment.

"I don't know what happened!" She complained as he began to gather the broken pieces. "I didn't even burn anything this time! But as soon as I try to do something nice and give you breakfast in bed—"

He stood from his crouched position, and gently grabbed each side of her face, abruptly halting her words. He smiled, before pressing his lips to hers.

She pulled away a little dazed, blinking slowly. She covered her face in her hands. "You can't go kissing me like that when I ruined breakfast!"

He raised his eyebrows, as if it were a challenge. "Oh really?"

He grabbed her hips and hoisted her onto the counter, making her shriek, and grab onto his shoulders for purchase.

He kissed her neck, then the juncture between her neck and shoulder, then her collarbone—anywhere he could reach bare skin. She pushed against his chest, squealing, but not really putting effort in.

He pulled back, surveying the small hickey growing above the swell of her breast. "Are you sure about that? Because I think I can kiss you fine."

She huffed, blowing the hair out of her face. "You are annoyingly adorable."

He pecked her one last time. "Thank you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if you actually like octavia (u should probably stop reading all my works if you do. i always find a way to write her out :)

**Author's Note:**

> in honour of my favourite show ever in the world getting cancelled. i also probably won't be updating for a bit because of exams but. it's fine


End file.
